I wonder if the snow loves
the trees and fields,
that it kisses them so gently?
And then it covers them up snug,
you know, with a white quilt,
and perhaps it says
"Go to sleep, darlings,
till the summer comes again."
Isn't it strange how princes and kings,
And clowns that caper in sawdust rings,
And common people, like you and me,
are builders for eternity?
Each is given a list of rules;
A shapeless mass; a bag of tools.
And each must fashion, ere life is flown,
A stumbling block or a stepping-stone.
By R. L. Sharpe